


The Boy in the Lindros Jersey

by inalasahl



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Los Angeles Kings, M/M, implausible medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inalasahl/pseuds/inalasahl
Summary: Tyler doesn't know what to do other than focus on making it to the show.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kayndred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayndred/gifts).



Tyler had been pretty excited at first about skipping a whole day of school, especially since his mom said they could go to Timmie’s after his appointment. He doesn’t like the glass window separating him and his mom, though, even if she really can hear and see everything like they said. He’s supposed to find a comfortable position to sit in, but it’s hard with so many electrodes everywhere that he’s not allowed to mess up. Plus, they itch.

“Okay, Tyler,” Dr. R says, “Now I’m just going to take you through the dream journal that you and your parents have filled out this past week to help jog your memory. It’s okay not to remember something or to say you don’t know. I want you to be honest, understand?”

Tyler nods his head, before remembering his manners. “I mean, yes, uh, yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Great! We’ll start with the most recent, all right?”

This part’s not so strange. Tyler’s mom and sometimes his dad, too, ask about his dreams all the time. Megan says it’s because he’s a late bloomer and Courtney laughs and says that just means slow. She’s super mean to Tyler all the time, and it’s not fair, because even though mom told her to stop, she keeps teasing him, and Tyler’s not allowed to kick her. Having a bond-mate like Megan wouldn’t be so bad, but if she’s a girl like Courtney it’s no wonder his brain would rather help him practice his dangles with Eric.

“Can we go back to that, Tyler?” Dr. R asks. “You said you were playing shinny on your street with this Eric kid?” she prompted.

“I don’t know his real name,” Tyler said. “I just think of him as Eric, because he always wears a Lindros jersey.”

“So, you’ve dreamed about him before?”

Tyler shrugged, but Dr. R wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the screen that showed the read-out from the wires attached to him. Her eyes were just strange enough that Tyler wondered if she had mods. She asked a few more questions, but Tyler could tell she didn’t really care about his answers. Finally, she finished and beckoned his mom back into the room. “I’ll give you a print-out explaining everything for you to share with your husband, but if you’ve been listening, I’m sure you can guess what I’m going to say. There’s no signs of any physical or mental defect that would prevent Tyler from bonding, and given Tyler’s statements, I think we can rule out a large age gap, death or similar issue that would prevent Tyler from syncing with his bond-mate.”

His mom laughed, and Tyler could tell she was relieved. “I don’t know how we missed it. We were so worried! Every morning it was the same old story. I ask whether he’d dreamed about any little girls, and he’d insist that he’d just dreamed about playing hockey.”

* * *

That night, Tyler woke up in his bedroom. The weather looked just as cold and dreary as he had when he had gone to sleep, but even though his parents turned the heat down at night, Tyler still felt cozy and warm when he went outside without a coat over his Super 8 uniform, a sure sign that he was dreaming.

The boy in the Lindros jersey was already on the street outside holding two sticks. Tyler grinned and held out his hand, but the other kid yanked the sticks back. “Tell me about your appointment first.”

Tyler rolled his eyes and stretched his hand out just enough to grab one of the sticks with the tips of his finger. The boy let him have it like the softie he was. “It was fine. The doctor said you were my bond-mate.”

“My parents always say that too. Hey! I bet they’d let you visit. You’d be way more fun to play with than my cousins.”

“I already asked if you could come play for real. My parents said it didn’t really work that way.”

Tyler’s dad had said even those who knew they’d been dreaming of their bond-mates didn’t get to remember too many details, at least not at Tyler’s age. Dreams were for helping your brains grow accustomed to each other, so that when you finally were older and did meet, you could handle sharing your thoughts and feelings with another person all the time. They weren’t for helping people find their bond-mates before they were ‘ready,’ as Tyler’s mom had phrased it.

The boy looked kind of down, so Tyler gave him a friendly bump. “Don’t look so sad. You should be glad nobody but me gets to see you wearing a stupid Lindros jersey.”

The boy bristled the way Tyler knew he would. “It’s way better than yours. That’s not even an NHL team.”

Tyler smirked. “It’s not. It’s my mites jersey. Someone still in mini wouldn’t understand.” Tyler had gotten to join mites two whole years early, and he wasn’t going to lose a chance to brag about it. He bumped the other kid again. “Come on, let’s play,” he said. Tyler dragged over the trash bin to mark how far out from the curb the goal extended. He watched as the other kid seemed to drag nothing to the same space. That had been explained to him, also. That happened sometimes in dreams, his dad had told him. Because their brains weren’t synced yet, the other kid was probably seeing his own street, different from Tyler’s. “It would probably cost a hundred dollars to fly to Philadelphia anyhow.”

The kid seemed startled and looked down at his own jersey for a moment. “I don’t live in Philadelphia,” he said. “I live in —“

* * *

Tyler woke up. His head was buzzing and the referee was blowing his whistle right into Tyler’s ear. “Slowly, son,” he said, as Tyler tried to sit up. “You don’t want to get dizzy.”

Tyler tried to move slow, and he must have managed it, because the bench seemed to travel farther and farther away before he finally caught it.

When it was time for his shift, his coach pushed him back down. “Not you, Toffoli. You know the rules. You stay out late, you sit a shift.”

“I was knocked out,” Tyler protested.

“All the more reason for you to sit.”

Sitting didn’t help, and by the end of the game, Tyler’s head felt worse, not better.

This time it was his dad who took him to see the doctor, and afterwards his parents gave him a choice. He had a concussion, of course, and his parents had barely gotten off of the phone to update his coach, before they were receiving a call back from the league saying that Tyler’s concussion was his fault, even though it was a supposed to be a no checking game. Regardless of his skill, Tyler was just too small compared to the older kids, and the league didn’t like the liability. He could go back to his age group, which Tyler hated the thought of, kids too unskilled or uncreative to be fun playing against, or he could get concussion protection mods early. Mods was short for modifications, and lots of people got them, within the law, to activate or deactivate certain genes. It was all legal, so long as it didn’t change who Tyler was, and there was an identified medical purpose.

“You’d have to get them in a few years, anyway,” his father said. “They’re required in the O and in the N.H.L. for anyone under 21,” His father balled up his hand and chucked him under the chin. “The thing is, Tyler, that getting mods like these put in this early, well, there are some side effects.”

The doctor knelt down in front of him and gave him a very serious look. “I don’t believe that decisions like these should be left up to children,” she said. “But this is what your parents want, so I want to make sure you fully understand the consequences.” One, if something did happen that under normal circumstances would have given Tyler a concussion, he’d receive a massive wave of pain. “Kind of like being set on fire,” the doctor said. “It’s required by law, because you can’t have these kinds of mods forever, so you need to learn to avoid trauma and not start thinking of yourself as invincible.” Two, the way the concussion mods worked to immediately heal damaged brains, it would interfere with Tyler’s ability to continue syncing with his bond-mate. Mostly when they mods came out, they’d be able to pick up where they left off, but maybe not.

This was why his parents, who’d worried so much when they weren’t sure he had a bond-mate, wanted him to make the decision. Tyler couldn’t even explain why they’d stopped dreaming together, because the concussion he had at the moment prevented him from dreaming, too.

“He’s going to think something really bad happened,” Tyler said. “Like I died.”

His mom hugged him. “He’ll understand some day,” she said.

* * *

The first time Tyler meets Tanner Pearson is on the ice. There’s something familiar about him, and Pearson must think so, too, because he does a double take. But Tyler’s played a lot of kids in various leagues over the years (though, he’d expect to remember one so good-looking), and he doesn’t think too much about it until the equipment manager tells him one of the Colts’ players wants to talk to him.

It’s maybe a prank, but maybe not, so Tyler goes out to meet him. It’s that Pearson guy from earlier, and he gets a little weird, reaching out and stroking Tyler right on the arm, like they know each other. It’s weird, because, for a moment, Tyler just wants to sink into the touch himself, but he pulls away instead. “Um, I think maybe you’ve got me confused with someone else,” Tyler says.

“You’re all right,” the guy says, not listening. “I don’t understand what happened. Was I not —”

Tyler takes a step back. If it’s a prank, it’s an odd one. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You — you don’t recognize me, do you?” the guy says.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Tyler said.

“How could you be here, and fine, and not know — how could you?” the kid says, and he sounds kind of angry.

“Don’t you have a bus to catch?” Tyler asks, and the guy glares at him.

“I guess so,” he says.

* * *

Tyler would have put the incident out of his mind, but over the next year, Tanner Pearson becomes Tyler’s personal nightmare. Guys aren’t supposed to come up to major junior after two years, and if they are so lucky, they aren’t supposed to spend half a season wrecking Tyler's chances at the OHL scoring title. Tyler’s hoping this is his last year of junior, but it’s not going to impress the Kings much if he gets blown out by a guy who’s gone two years without even getting drafted. Half-way through the season and Pearson is leading the league by over ten points, and by the league, Tyler means himself. Games against the Colts are brutal. Pearson can’t stickhandle the way he can, but he’s strong, impossible to knock off of the puck, and Tyler feels gassed every time they play each other. Tyler’s got to do something about his skating.

That's all before Hockey Canada cuts Tyler on the last day of world junior camp, his last year with a shot of making the team. They keep Pearson, of course. Pearson, who didn't even get an invite to the summer camp. Pearson makes the roster, and Tyler just can't stand it. It’s like Pearson has a personal goal to beat Tyler out of everything he wants.

In the end, the joke is on Tyler, because neither of them win the OHL scoring title. That goes to Michael Sgarbossa. Tyler’s only consolation is that he’s the one who comes in second, and Pearson has to make do with third.

That summer, the Kings win their first Stanley Cup and use the 30th overall pick to draft 20-year old Tanner Pearson.

* * *

After a couple of years of dev camp, Tyler felt pretty comfortable that he knew the routine, make sure you get up early enough to make the bus to the rink, check in with the guys you know and the guys you don't, because some day they might be your teammates. There was something about Pearson that reminded Tyler of Shane Prince, and Tyler kind of hoped that he could find that chemistry again with someone enough to let bygones be bygones.

"Congratulations on going in the first round," he said.

Pearson looked at him. "Thanks." He smiled at the other man, "You, uh, you looked good in the semi-finals," he said.

"I looked good?" Tyler asked. "You were giving me fits every time our shifts lined up. You made us work for it, for sure." 

“There was someone I sure wanted to impress,” Pearson said.

“Yeah?” Tyler asked, but Pearson didn’t say anything else. He sat down next to him. "Is this seat taken?"

Pearson looked around to where everyone else was already sitting down. "I think you're good," he chuckled.

Tyler grinned. "Good, maybe I'll have just enough time to get a few winks in." It was obviously a joke, as the hotel wasn't that far from the practice rink.

Pearson laughed. "Yeah, I remember that from world junior camp."

"I have been known to enjoy a lounge or two," Tyler said, and the two of them grinned at each other.

By the time they’re sent to the A, they’re becoming fast friends.

* * *

There’s a lot of older guys in the A who’ve had their mods removed, and Tyler tries not to be jealous as they reconnect with their bond-mates and eventually learn enough to meet them in person. It’s not like he doesn’t have enough to think about, playing pro, and trying to play well enough to get a call-up. Sometimes he tries to remember, something, anything, about his bond-mate, but all he can really remember is that awful Lindros jersey. He wonders if his bond-mate still plays hockey and likes to imagine each of his teammates is secretly him. Pears, maybe, or Joner. It hurts more than it should when Joner mentions his bond-mate is a woman a couple of months later.

He must not do a very good job of keeping his mind on his game, though, because afterward, in their hotel room, Pears asks him about it. “You always look so sad when people talk about their bond-mates,” he says. “Don’t you like yours?” He bites his lip, like the answer is important to him, and Tyler wonders if Pears has his own bond-mate drama.

“I hardly knew him,” Tyler answers. He explains about having to get his mods put in really early, and how he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to start forming a bond again when they come out. “I don’t even know if he’ll want me.”

“He’ll want you,” Pears says firmly. He crawls into bed with Tyler and puts his arm around him. “Anybody’d want you.”

“Would you?” Tyler asks.

Pears turns to him, and his lips are right against Tyler’s neck as he whispers, “Always.” It’s dark and it’s late, and Tyler feels content for the first time in a long time, as they lay there. He finds himself drifting off to sleep. “If I was your bond-mate, would you want me?” Tanner asks. And Tyler thinks he says yes, before he falls asleep.

* * *

The next day, Tyler wakes early and rather than disturbing Pears, he goes downstairs for breakfast and runs into Joner. Pears texts him a plaintive “where r u” not too much later, and Tyler tells him to come down, but when he does he seems non-plussed to see Joner there and snaps at him like he’s mad about something. It’s weird, because Tyler knows Pears likes Joner. He’s already made plans to move in with Joner if they both make the show, even if he did joke that he was only doing it so Tyler couldn’t, and because Joner is a better cook.

Not that it would take much, Pears was awful. Even worse than Andy, and Tyler hadn’t thought that was possible.

* * *

They both get cups of coffee and Tyler gets a call-up even, and while it sucks going back and forth, Pears seems to have gotten over whatever about Joner was getting on his nerves. Maybe because he has his own little star-struck crush on Mike Richards that Tyler can tease him about.

“Of course you like him, a good Kitchener boy like you.”

“He’s awesome!” Tanner insists. “Besides, I would have liked him anyway, because he was an amazing captain for the Flyers. Dad says he’s one of the best ever.”

“Your dad follows the Flyers?” Tyler laughs.

“Oh, yeah, my dad is a huge Flyers fan. Me too when I was a kid, because he was. Especially when I was a kid, I mean, Lindros was the most amazing —"

"Oh, sure, he could score, but Datsyuk can score _and_ make pl ..." Tyler's voice trailed off, and he looked at Tanner in surprise. "It was you," he said.

"What?"

"You're the boy in the Lindros jersey!" Tyler had known Tanner for a couple of years now, and he knew instantly that Tanner knew what he was talking about from the way that every muscle on his face froze and his cheeks got redder and redder. “All this time you knew, and you never said —“ Tyler kept his voice from breaking, but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from tearing up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was mad at first, and then I thought I was wrong, but once I realized I was right, we were friends, and I didn’t know how — don’t look at me like that, Tyler, please, I swear, I swear, I always wanted you, I always wanted to tell you — I.”

Tyler sat down heavily on the couch. “You suck,” he said.

Tanner sat down next to him. “I know.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend!” 

“I know.”

“What if I get my mods out and I still can’t bond with you?” Tyler asked.

Tanner took his hand and held it tight. “Then it’s good we got to know each other without it,” and he pulled Tyler into his lap and kissed him just as hard as he could.


End file.
